Open Wounds
by MysticSpiritus
Summary: There is a very strong reason why Lady Hilda does not speak the name of her former warden. Her cauldron holds part of the answer anyway. Two words: BAD WOLF (A companion fic to To Conjure a Heart.)


_Mystic: Consider this a little prequel to To Conjure a Heart. Enjoy, and please leave a review._

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**Open Wounds**

**(_Subtitled: _****A Tale of Two Hearts)**

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Lady Hilda could not remember the last time she achieved an orgasm.

In a way, she blamed herself. The last time she even engaged in sexual congress led to disappointment and eventual anger because her husband had a bit of 'quick draw', so to speak. She pitied him at first, reassured him that 'it happens to everyone', which led to a very crude joke on his part involving her and 'everyone'. Cid thought it was clever; Hilda wanted to turn him into an undesirable creature that nobody wanted.

A few weeks later, she achieved that opportunity because he gave a slutty pub wench all the orgasms she desired. (And probably a bit of financial compensation under the table. Well, bed.)

Now most women who properly understood the word REVENGE, would seek out a young male body, preferably a servant or gardener, and, in equally crude terms, 'go to town' on that young male physique. Afterwhile (and maybe a drink or two), she'd forgive her husband and herself, and all would be well in the marital bed again. He would learn not to stray, and she would learn that she didn't need him to be _veryvery_happy.

Hilda did indeed understand the word REVENGE, but chose (rather stupidly) not to exercise it in that horizontal fashion. Cid discovered himself as a bug, while his wife galloped off with a madman in a codpiece. Well, kidnapped - well ...honestly, there isn't another way to describe what transpired. A sorcerer took her airship and frivolously decided to let her live.

Now, once again, most women would shamelessly indulge in stockholm-syndrome, and allow this madman in a codpiece to have his way with them. Oh, the _shame_; oh, the _brutality_ of it all. Whatever shall she do when he ravished her madly, making her forget her husband's name? Yes, just lie back and think of the regency you left behind.

The lady snorted, flopped back against the bed pillows. Opportunities abounded for a liason with the sorcerer, but Hilda squandered them because she wanted to be a moral, upright woman who kept both feet on the ground and corsets double-knotted. That, and mainly fear for her life. A tiny part of her worried that if she had performed not to his satisfaction, he'd chant a flare star, obliterating her from his bed. Unfortunately, that does not take into account all the other nightmares of which he liked to speak.

When the sorcerer chose not to discuss worldly torment and, even when he did, he treated the regent's wife with an unusual amount of civility. They spoke over mugs of warm tea or chalices of wine, often in front of the hearth in his palace. Meals with him were filled with conversations, both serious and silly. If pressed to reveal one good trait of her kidnapper, she'd state (besides the codpiece) that, unlike most other men, he listened. Intently even. Kuja, of all people, gave her the shoulder to cry upon.

Literally.

Not that he wanted his silk sleeves to be tear-stained, but he tolerated her sobs anyway. Even the villain experienced pity.

Her bedchamber in Lindblum felt cold and alone compared to the chambers in Mount Gulug. Back then, desperate and not herself, she requested her warden's presence, hoping, desiring, wanting to feel love again. All she truly craved was the physical side. "Too late," she whispered to the lonesome darkness. "I was too late."

Regent ToadyFrog Cid found her instead, and so she returned to Lindblum as his wife once more.

Not once have they reconciled fully as husband and wife. Not in the way she wanted.

Twin moons cascaded light in her chambers, the crimson overshadowing the blue. It stirred magic within her two hearts, waved through her broken soul. Clad in her night-shift, she grabbed a heavy cloak and exited to the balcony. Cool wind blew around her. "Midnight," she said. "What do I need this witching hour?"

Well, a willing gentleman would be nice; specifically, one low-hanging part of a gentleman. Mayhap the cauldron or crystal ball could speak advice. Like an affirmative answer, the wind blew a touch harder. "Shall I conjure the Bad Wolf then?"

Sharp pain shot up her wrist. A scar crusted over with dark blood began to throb and pulsate. Hilda lifted the sleeve of her shift, grimaced at the bluish bruise. "Alright, then. I shall find my cauldron." The scar hadn't broken open, thankfully.

Years ago, as a sly and rambling teenager, Hilda was offered a chance to experience countless sexual experiences; her senator believed that with her wit and knowledge, she'd make it as a marvelous courtesan. She danced well, sang well ...kissed extremely well. By all logic, those talents obviously meant her bedroom skills reached around and back beyond compare. Hmph, she couldn't remember the last time she gave a reach around either.

Regent Cid should be a thoroughly exhausted husband, drained and spent every evening. The crusty scar on her wrist wouldn't allow it.

xxx

"Darling?" the regent queried. "What in Gaia's name are you_ doing_?!"

His beautiful wife, a woman of magic, stood in the cold night air on her balcony. She wore a gown of red and black, a silvery blue cloak draped her shoulders. A cast iron cauldron bubbled above a small fire pit. "Blood magic, dear," she answered.

He chose to remain by the balcony's double doors. "You said you didn't practice it anymore." Her cloak's color gave him a very ill feeling in his stomach.

"Right now I don't have a choice." Crimson moonlight shone above her, giving her an eerie and pale glow. Her trusted broom stood against the railing, waiting. "I am calling to the Bad Wolf for assistance."

"What's Bad Wolf?"

"Very powerful blood magic." To prove her point, she lifted the left sleeve of her gown, revealed the bloody and bruised scar. "Someone out there has a message for me, but I don't know if that someone is alive or dead."

"Oh, darling," he said quietly. "What did Kuja do to you?"

At the sorcerer's name, more pain surrounded her wrist. She gritted her teeth, held her opposite hand out and bid the broom come to her. It floated by her side. "I make it a point not to speak his name."

"Why?"

"Because it hurts."

Cid moved to stand close to her, to caress his wife, but she blocked him with the simple sweeping aid. "If he harmed you, I can help." A pleading tone crept into his voice. "I don't ever want you to hurt again."

Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. "It's not because of a physical scar."

"Then what is it?" His hand clasped around her own, and the scar broke open. Bright blood dripped down between them.

She pulled back quickly, spoke sharply. "One of my hearts is broken and I want to know why." The air grew thick around them, heavy with the odorous smell of iron and earth.

"Is Kuja involved?"

"_Don't_ say his name!" Grimacing, but stoicly, the lady held her wrist over the cauldron and squeezed seven drops of her blood in the bubbling concoction. It gurgled and popped, smoked and swirled. The regent stepped back to relative safety as the flames cackled high. "The Bad Wolf belonged to my ancestor, and she gave her heart to the first blood mage."

"And so you have two," Cid said.

"And so we have two."

The cauldron fire imploded, the liquid spell becoming still and clear like a pond on a winter's night. All that remained from the swirling fire was a gentle stream of quiet smoke. Two pairs of eyes watched as it twirled above the cast iron, danced into yet another chant. Blood continued to stream down Hilda's wrist. "The Bad Wolf has heard my plea," she whispered.

Cid lost all feelings in his legs, leaned against the stone wall and slid down its surface. He sat like a dejected child in time-out. "I feel as if I'm losing you again, Hilda. The girl I married wouldn't have done this."

She ignored him, studied the smoke between tear-filled eyes. "It's a message, a greeting."

"Kuja's dead."

Pain stabbed at her wound, a rusty knife that dug deeper and deeper, twisting as it went up her arm and penetrated both hearts. The lady shrieked, almost collapsed to the ground if it wasn't for her trusted broom, clutching at her scar and finally, finally, released the full cries. Her sobs echoed throughout the night. The broom lay her down gently, a shuddering and shaking mess of a mage.

"Hilda!" He crawled toward her to help, to lift her from the cold balcony surface, but an invisible force flung him back hard. His head made an unpleasant _thud!_ upon the door.

"I told you it hurts!" she cried, tears dropping as fast as the blood. Two hearts took their place in a blood mage's chest, and both of hers snapped into pieces not even worthy enough to be chewed upon by dogs. The right heart controlled hatred and vile thought, the left ruled love and longing. When the balance of the two grew uneven, mages turned cold, hard. "... I cannot breathe ..."

The regent managed to sit up, but wisely stayed back from his wife. "Let me help you."

"No, not ever again."

xxx

Their blonde chambermaid discovered them when the sky turned a muted lavender. Regent Cid sat slumped by the door frame, barely awake, a thick knot on the back of his head. He didn't have the energy -or desire- to take a peek under the girl's skirt. His wife, pale from loss of blood, slept soundly by the cooled and empty cauldron. Not even the fire pit gave off smoke. A lonely broom lay in the middle of it all.

"Sir?" the girl asked. She patted his cheek to revive him fully, knelt down to stare at him eye-level. "Shall I bring the physician?"

" ...no."

"How about Freema? She's a white mage."

"Thank you, Billie."

xxx

Freema wore a white apron and sat beside her lady. "Why does it hurt?" Inside the palace walls, the white mage cleansed the scar with warm water and garden-variety antiseptics.

"Because there is a man I both love and despise."

"The regent?"

A good guess, but unfortunately, incorrect. "No, dear; not him."

"The silver wizard then?" Freema's voice dropped to a hushed whisper.

"You may call him whatever you wish," said Hilda. "The silver wizard, the angel of death, the dark messenger."

"What did you call him?"

"I called him a sorcerer. My sorcerer."

Freema gave her lady a sad smile. "The official reports all claim he is dead."

"The Bad Wolf claims otherwise." Hilda sighed, wiped away a single tear. "I honestly do not know who to believe. I'm a fool, Freema; a foolish woman who has done nothing except waste away her life."

"No, lady; you're not."

"But I am," Hilda said. "I should never have returned here. My place is in the realm with my own kind. I would go to my senator and offer him my services in his home."

The white mage chuckled. "As a simple maid, my lady?"

"Oh, no." A gentle sensation spread through the lady's chest, pooled down to her lower abdomen. "His services require a girl to be off her feet most of the day." Freema reddened, cast down her gaze. "You blush, dear; it's very sweet."

"I'm sorry, my lady. I just -"

"Once upon a time," Hilda began. "The sorcerer took me to a party at the Treno auction house. He ordered me to dress up and make myself attractive so the other guests would think I was his mistress."

Bacteria and risk of infection no longer plagued the bruised and bloodied scar. "And did you?" asked Freema.

"I was his captive; I did as I was told." She eventually smiled, genuine and bit sultry. "So many young noblemen were present. Virile and dangerous and extremely eager." She thought of the prostitutes and courtesans in attendance, all their flesh and gaudy jewelry hanging out for the world to see and touch. They drank to loosen themselves further, to dance more freely with multiple suitors. "I could have had as many men as I wanted that night, kneeling at my feet and lifting my skirt. I'd have woken the next morning all wobbly and sticky, bruised and ashamed, my purse bursting with the gil I earned by selling out my body."

Her chambermaid stared back with very wide eyes.

"Dear, relax; I'm _joking_."

"Oh, thank Bahamut."

"I forget how innocent you three are -well, not so much Catherine, but forgive my jest. I needed a laugh."

Freema still resembled a chocobo about to be run over by a cart and buggy. Then backed over again for extra kicks. "Ah, alright."

"The sorcerer requested my presence for appearances mainly." Most men would say _bragging rights_. "It's not ...normal for a nobleman to attend a Treno festivity without a woman on his arm. Besides, dear, he refused to let me out of his sight the entire evening; he's very possessive over objects he considers his own."

"Ah, alright." She pretended as if the above tale never went past her ears, and continued to wrap her lady's wrist with a clean cloth. "If I may ask, why can't you and I or anyone speak his name?"

No more smiling. "As I explained to Cid, it hurts." At the moment, it tingled. "I never gave the sorcerer my body, unfortunately; but I did give him something else. Blood, from my own heart."

"But your wrist is cut."

"Left wrist, left heart; the blood lines in the body are all connected."

"You converted him?"

"I attempted to, yes." Another tear, another sigh. "Up until last night, I wasn't entirely sure it worked. He's not originally from Gaia."

Freema used a silk ribbon to tie the cloth in place. "My lady, what if he is alive? Then what happens?"

"The sorcerer, _my_ sorcerer, now holds my heart in his hands. We are bound together and this," -Hilda fingered the prettily bandaged wound- "will not heal until I see him again."

Her chambermaid stood, collected her supplies. "Would you care for some tea? A blood purifier?"

Hilda smiled. "Red clover. Thank you."

xxx

The couple ate a light lunch outside in the garden. Eiko rambled alongside a small pond and chased after butterflies. Thankfully, she didn't hear her parents' awkward discussion. Regent Cid spiked his drink with a hidden flask of whiskey. "I spoke to Freema," he said.

"You _what_?" whispered his wife. "Can I not have any confidentiality with my handmaidens?"

"Not after last night." His brow furled as he spoke, mouth pressed in a straight line. "How could you turn him? Kuja, of all people."

She dug her nails into her thigh to hide the throbbing pain. The distraction didn't do much. "You say his name _one_ more time, Cid, and I will use every ounce of magic left in me to make sure you _never_ see human eyes again!"

Her threat made his blood run cold as a blood mage tints every warning with a touch of magic. He literally froze, felt his body become surrounded by a not-so-friendly force. "Alright, darling. You have my apologies."

"I am a blood mage, Cid, a sorceress," she said. "And I cannot and will not hide it any longer. Please understand that."

"Will you tell me what the Bad Wolf said to you?"

"I can."

"...well?"

Lady Hilda softened her gaze toward her husband, took his flask from his hands. "The chant was written in Terran. I translated it over a cup of hot tea."

"His language?" Cid chose his words very carefully. "You understand his native tongue?"

"When I wasn't in his greenhouse," said Hilda, "I was in his library. I read, and I studied."

"What did it say?"

A pair of broken hearts beat in her chest beneath her corset. A scar on her wrist throbbed with memories and painful magic. But one little phrase made her think that circumstances might not turn out too poorly.

"Hello, sweetie."

xxx

Minister Artania, politician and friend to the family, stared flabbergasted at his regent. "Sir, are you sure you wish to do this?"

"It's for the best, Artania." Though, he wasn't quite sure for whom it would be the best. Certainly not him. "Hilda is not mine anymore. I don't think she ever truly was."

The two men stood in Regent Cid's office, one of whom fiddled mindlessly with his wedding band. "You realize that this investigation will take quite awhile, sir," said Artania. "You and the Lady Hilda have been married for quite some time."

"Just get it done."

"Yes, sir."

Mere seconds later, a tribunal judge burst through the heavy door. "My apologies, sir, but I have urgent news from Alexandria!" The heavy-set judge rested his hands on his knees, struggled to catch his breath. "Plague ...black death." He held out an envelope stained in dirt. "The queen is sick, on the verge of death itself."

"Not my niece!" the regent exclaimed. He took the envelope and skimmed the contents quickly. "It's everywhere in the city; people are dying left and right. Zidane's so desperate he hired a plague doctor, another mage."

Artania read over his regent's shoulder. "For Gaia's sake, I hope that plague doctor knows what he's doing."

xxx

Beneath the strong limbs of an elder tree, a blood mage sat and gathered her thoughts. She watched her adopted daughter skip rope with a few of the younger servants. Life used to be simple like that; one plays, sleeps, and learns about the world. In adulthood, life turns complicated and emotionally dreadful.

The blood mage inhaled the sweet scent of the flowers, then exhaled.

Both hearts stopped momentarily. Her exhaled breath was a sheer cloud of sparkling gold.

"Well then, sorcerer. I believe it's time to find out who or where you are."

Her vivid eyes became a deadly black.


End file.
